


you’re a little weird

by entropyangel



Category: The Last of Us (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Game: The Last of Us Part II, Joel getting the love he deserves, Quiet oc, Smut, like painfully quiet, young woman and older man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entropyangel/pseuds/entropyangel
Summary: Joel manages to find someone colder than he is.
Relationships: Joel (The Last of Us)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	you’re a little weird

It's a quiet patrol today. No infected, raiders, or hunters encountered. Joel is grateful for the silence. But when Effie rides with him, it always seems to be still, quiet. Autumn is in full swing, the air cooler and colorful leaves crunching beneath their horses hooves. "Weather's nice," he murmurs passively, glancing over at Effie. She looks back at him, grey eyes placid as she hums in acknowledgment, agreement, dismissal? He's never sure.

He trusts her, though, maybe even likes her. She's silent but a fierce fighter, merciless and fleet of foot. He wouldn't expect it from a person like her, hair dyed an annoyingly loud bubblegum pink color from some abandoned beauty shop they found out North, and her face littered with piercings. In the few times she spoke, she told him she had done them herself. Such lurid adornments compared to the quiet, closed off spirit she holds.

But Joel supposes he was the same way one time or another.

Her roots show in the evening sun and he can see her light brown roots beginning to sprout. "You need more of that hair dye," he comments mockingly, wearing a half smile. That earns a snort and a half smile from her as well. But he's tired of timid smiles and quiet laughter. He hasn't heard her voice in what feels like a long time. It's deep, rough and damaged, like it's been neglected for years. But he likes it, and he reluctantly misses it.

He glances at her again. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her mouth twitching like she's gonna say something. And he hates the way his heart skips a few beats, a rush of energy pulsing through him. "You doing anything tonight?" She asks hurriedly, roughly. She may be quiet, but she hangs around a lot, walks around his house, touches his things, listens to his records. Sometimes she just sits beside him, motionless and mute. And he wishes he found her annoying, but there's something tolerable about her, maybe even likable.

"Nope. You got somethin' in mind?" He responds calmly, despite the way his heart palpated beneath his ribcage. She nods. "Your place." It's not a question, but a statement. Her words aren't deliberate, but straight to the point, passing much too fast. Joel hates it. "I'm bringing something," she says quietly, making Joel snort. "And what would that be?" She doesn't speak, just shrugs, barring her teeth in a rare way. 

Joel finds himself perplexed as they ride back to Jackson.

__________________________________

He cleans up before she comes over. Its already organized, but she always manages to find spots he missed, wordlessly sorting books or sweeping the kitchen floor. He even makes her an iced coffee from his own beloved stash. She likes that sugary shit that he thinks is garbage. But he supposes it wouldn't hurt to show someone his nicer side.

He sits on the couch, awaiting her arrival, and wondering what the hell she's got up her sleeve. He's not one for surprises and neither is she, so what's so important that she wouldn't even reveal it to him? He doesn't know, but he wants to.

And he knows he won't be wondering for much longer when he hears a knock at the door.

He stands up, dusting off his jeans, trying to look somewhat presentable. He hasn't tried for much anyone but her. He walks over to the door and tries to ignore the thundering rhythm of his heartbeat. His large hand wraps around the doorknob. 

He opens the door, and is met by Effies eyes. They make him feel cold, pupils grey and impermeable like steel. Her cheeks and nose are reddened by the cold. Strands of artificial pink hair blow against her face and she wears the faintest smile.

He moves aside, and she steps inside the house. It feels natural as she kicks off her boots and hangs the scarf she knitted up on the coat rack. She wears the blue socks she also knitted. She's made Joel some socks and pillows. He always insists he shouldn't take the stuff, but she just leaves it there.

"What've you got?" He asks as soon as she shuffles into the living room. She looks over her shoulder at him, smiling in an unfamiliarly mischievous way. He follows her into the living room, standing behind her, shoving his hands into his back pockets. He sees her hands rummaging through the pocket of her hoodie. She makes a short noise, and he can't tell what she's feeling from it's vagueness.

"Effie," he murmurs, scoffing. "Aha," she breathes, spinning around and facing him. She withdraws her hand from her pocket, a small clear bag clutched between her fingers, two joints rolled and ready to smoke. He hasn't seen one of those in a long, long time. She steps closer to him, fishing a blue lighter out of her pocket. "Say something," she murmurs, placing the bag in his large hand. And he thinks that's the funniest thing she's ever said.

He looks down at her, his lips quirking into a small smile he can't fight off. "And where'd you get this?" He asks, flipping the bag in his palm. "Eugene." Joel had expected that. He nods, and opens the baggie. "Alright..." he takes one joint, and hands the other to Effie. Her nails scratch over his palm. They're painted a glittery purple color and he stifles a laugh.

"Nice nails." She gives a snort and holds up her lighter. Joel places the joint between his lips. Effie raises her hand. The orange flame flickers and she holds it against the end of the joint. He inhales and his lungs begin to tickle. He holds it for as long as he can, before taking the joint out of his mouth and exhaling. He coughs a few times, his lungs burning wonderfully. And through the haze of smoke, he can see Effie smiling in a genuine way, can see the gaps in her teeth and the piercing on her tongue. 

She sticks her own joint between her lips, and holds the lighter up against it. Joel's heart beats faster at the way the flame glows against her face. He can see the curve of her nose, the shiny piercings stabbed through her skin, the scars and imperfections on her cheeks and neck, the way her eyebrows furrow in an admirable concentration. He sees everything.

She inhales, her cheeks hollowing and her eyes glazing over. Once she can't hold it any longer, she holds the joint away, exhaling, billows of foggy smoke blowing towards Joel. He winces and swallows a cough. And a strangely aberrant sound rumbles through her. A laugh, crispy and damaged like that of a smoker, but it's something delightful, bright and sweet in its oddity. 

Joel feels a peculiar buzzing. Its like he's made of stardust as a tingly feeling begins. Effie sits down on the sofa. Joel follows her. He feels lighter, like he's gliding. He likes this feeling, and he takes another drag. Effie is puffing away, clouds of smoke continuing to billow from her mouth. Her body loosens a bit, normally tense frame sinking back into the couch. "Is it good?" She asks, and he's taken by surprise at her willingness to know how he's feeling.

He nods. "S' good," he drawls, the smoke escaping his mouth as he opens it. She hums in her dismissive way and scoots closer to him. Her knee rocks back and forth, jabbing his lightly. He should be annoyed but he's not. He can't be as she leans her head back against the couch, shutting her eyes and looking oddly placid. "You should smoke this before we go out on patrols. It'd surely lighten you up," he teases. She lets out a quiet growl that makes his stomach churn with something he can't identify.

They sit in silence, wispy lines of smoke floating around the living room. Before he knows it, he's smoke up all of his joint. He nudges Effie lazily with his knee. She hums without opening her eyes. "I'll pay you for more of that," he murmurs, eyeing her silently. The corners of her mouth twitch, like she wants to smile, and she nods her head.

"Thought you'd like it." He's always trying to think of ways to repay her for her silent deeds, the goods she knits him, the coffee she'll scrounge up for him on patrols—oh yeah, the iced coffee. He straightens up, making Effie open her eyes. "I made you iced coffee," he says, smirking slightly. And she lets herself smile.

She rises to her feet, swaying slightly as she shuffles towards the kitchen. Joel follows behind her. She opens the fridge, making a quiet noise of delight as she grabs the glass off of the top shelf. She's quick to begin drinking it and Joel laughs quietly. "Can't believe you drink that sugary shit," he murmurs. She bumps the fridge door shut with her hip, glaring at him as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. He'd expect someone so aloof (like him) to drink the black coffee he likes. But she's always surprising him, full of contradictions.

They stand silently in the kitchen. Joel places his large hands on the counter, leaning against it as he begins to feel like he's swaying. The fridge buzzes in a staticky way and the ice in Effies glass clinks from time to time. He feels...tranquil, and he silently admits that he likes her here, standing in his kitchen like it's her own. Effies grey eyes dart upwards, like she knows each thought that crosses his mind.

She walks over to where he stands, and hoists herself up onto the counter. He stands beside her, his fingers drumming against the countertop. "Your hair," she murmurs. He quirks an eyebrow. It'a grown longer, curling around his ears and down the curve of his jaw. But it's been that way for awhile now. "What about it?" He asks. She raises her arm, and her hand shakily creeps forward, barely grazing over his hair. She curls a piece around her finger, nodding her head. "It's nice." His heart stutters. Her fingertips graze his cheek as she pulls away.

"You're different," he admits, taking a shaky breath. Her face is void of emotion, or maybe he just can't tell what she's feeling. "How?" He shrugs. "You're bein' nicer, talking more." She snorts like she's denying this, and looks down at her socked feet, swinging slightly and bumping the cabinets.

Her hair hangs in her face, but Joel can see her slightly, eyebrows furrowed like she's thinking hard. He wants to know what she's thinking, what she's feeling, what she's wanting. The sound of her heels banging against the cabinets should drive him crazy, but it doesn't. A strange tranquility is roused in him, maybe from the weed or Effies presence, probably both. She cocks her head, glancing at him.

The cold grey of her eyes shocks him, even after months of knowing her. It's a peculiar silence that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Her demeanor is similar to that of hot embers, crackling and sizzling and burning with an inexplicable heat. But while she's fiery, there's something cold about her, something she's keeping hidden away, just out of Joel's reach.

"What're you waiting for?" Her voice comes out quietly, but it keeps its roughness. He freezes up, his fingers still against the countertop. Her heels continue to hit the cabinet. She's looking at him fully now, like she's expecting something. He knows what she's anticipating and he wants to give it to her.

His legs are wobbly as he moves around the counter. Her eyes follow his movements carefully. He stands in front of her, and his hands brace either sides of the countertop around her. His arms brush against her waist and he can feel her tense up. 

His eyes flicker up, and she's staring back at him in a stern way. He almost thinks she'll push him away, only until her hands settle on his shoulders. He can feel her trembling, her eyes shifting between the floor and Joel's face. Her nails scratch against the soft fabric of his flannel, and he's fighting off the urge to rest his hands on her thighs. 

"Joel." He can't remember the last time she said his name. But the way it rolls off her tongue, voice strained and imperfect, laced with a certain desperation. He feels his heart swell, and something grows hard in his pants. Fuck. Her legs open slightly, and she pulls him closer against her. And he lets his hands rest on her thighs finally, fingers squeezing her jean clad flesh. She shivers beneath his hands, her own fingers digging into the collar of his shirt.

Their faces are mere inches apart. Her breath fans against his cheek, warm and shaky. His thumb tucks into the belt loop of her jeans, and he bows his head against hers. The tip of her nose grazes against his, her piercings cold against his warm skin. "Joel," she whispers again, in a more demanding tone that makes him smirk. "Yes?" He hums, his fingers traveling upwards, touching beneath the hem of her shirt. She glares at him, grumbling quietly, deprived of what she wants. He laughs in a low way.

"Alright," he murmurs, leaning in, closing the gap between them. Her lips are sweet and sticky, contradictory to her teeth, biting and tugging at Joel's bottom lip. His hands tuck beneath her thighs, squeezing her skin and groaning as her fingers move to unbutton his shirt. His own fingers move up, fiddling with the button of her jeans. 

He's not quite sure how they got here, standing at a distance at one point, and hooking up on the kitchen counter at another. Her hands are cold against his chest, fingers roaming over the expanse of skin. She breaks their kiss and lets out a shaky breath. Her head bends down, and he can feel her tongue glide over the column of his throat. "Shit," he hisses, his hands gliding farther up her top. Her skin is scarred but smooth in some places. His fingers squeeze her hips and she shudders, continuing to kiss his neck.

He can imagine the grief he'll get from Tommy tomorrow. But he doesn't care, not now, not when there's a woman eagerly kissing him, holding him. He pulls away, yanking her shirt over her head. Her hair tousles into her face and she squints, combing pieces out of her face and grumbling.

But Joel thinks she looks perfect.

He leans down, his lips kissing down her chest, hands pulling down her bra straps. Her breathing's heavy, her fingers hooking into his hair. "You got anything to say up there?" He murmurs against her sternum. And she laughs in a low way, the sound rumbling like an engine. He wishes she'd laugh more. But that's another issue for another time.

Her hand moves to his cheek, and her tenderness takes him by surprise, her thumb stroking over his cheekbone. His mouth moves up, gently kissing her neck and jaw, until he reaches her mouth again. Her hands dip down to his belt and zipper, fingers pressing against the bulge in his pants briefly.

"Shit, girl," he hisses, bucking forward involuntarily. She smiles against his mouth, and frantically unbelts and unzips him. He's almost delirious with need and he feels young again, like the man he was before the outbreak. And his train of thought is derailed once her hand sneaks into his boxers. Her fingers are calloused and feel stern from strictly being used for violence at one point. She's rigid in his arms, but needy as she eagerly wraps her fingers around him.

"Effie," he breathes, breaking their kiss. His hands pull her hair out of her face. They don't tug or pull, but gently move the pink strands onto her other shoulder. He leans down, kissing her shoulder and collarbone. He can feel her muscles and bones moving beneath his mouth, her heart thumping and her blood rushing. It's nice to hear a pulse, to hold it close and nurture it, rather than eliminate it.

Her hand stops it's movements, but he's not disappointed once he lifts his head, and sees her fumbling out of her own jeans. A low laugh rumbles through him. She cuts her eyes and grumbles, struggling to remove her pants while sitting on the kitchen counter. Joel reaches forward, helping tug the jeans down her thighs. He can see her rolling her eyes, but he doesn't care. He pulls the jeans down to her ankles and she kicks them off clumsily.

His hands squeeze her thighs again, long fingers hooking into the waistband of her underwear. She hooks her arm over his broad shoulders, pulling him against her. Her lips are surprisingly tender against his cheek. He pulls her underwear down to her ankles, and immediately, his fingers creep down her stomach and hips, burying themselves between her thighs. She falls forward into his chest at the sudden feeling of his calloused fingertips on something so sensitive. A long sigh leaves her mouth.

Joel's free hand rises, his fingers tilting Effies chin upwards. He leans down slightly, his mouth meeting hers again. And he can't get enough of her lips, her teeth, her tongue, he wants all of it and more. Her thighs clench around his hand, her fingernails pressing into his skin. She pulls away from his mouth, and her shaky breaths fan against his face. 

Her eyes are frigid and aloof, but as he moves his fingers, he can see an inexplicable heat growing in her pupils, a foggy haze of relief, something that lied dormant for years being roused. Her hand trails down his chest, her fingers tucking into the waistband of his boxers. She tugs his hand out of her underwear with her other hand, and tugs his boxers down. A tingly feeling bleeds through Joel's scalp, all the way down to his fingertips. Effie tugs off her underwear, lifting her legs for ease, then kicking the under garment onto the kitchen floor.

Her hand circles around Joel's waist, palm pressing into his back and dragging him closer. Her thighs spread, and she looks at him with a certain intensity and slight expectance. Joel shudders, and places his hands under Effies thighs, nearly dragging her off the countertop. Her hands travel up to his shoulders, latching on for stability. He guides himself into her.

His nails nearly break her skin as he sinks himself fully inside her. He suppresses another shiver. She's warm and tight, comforting in the middle of a post apocalyptic world. He removes one hand from her thigh, letting his fingers massage her clit again. And she hisses in pleasure, her hips bucking forward against his. Fuck. He realizes he needs to pace himself, nearly coming undone at a simple motion. It's been a long time since he's done this, pre outbreak, when he was younger, less impatient.

But it's strange, how she makes him feel young again, smoking with him and hooking up on the kitchen counter like some clumsy, urgent kids. She leans forward, kissing his jaw, letting out sharp breaths as he slows his pace, his fingers rubbing tight circles. He groans in a low way, and her teeth scratch his skin. He's too slow for her, and she bucks her hips up to meet him. "Fuck... slow down," he hisses. He feels her chuckle, her body shaking slightly as the sound rumbles through her.

She stops kissing his jaw and straightens up, her head pressed back against the cabinets. He starts with slow movements, but he looks at her and he feels like he could fall apart at any moment, her eyes lidded and her cheeks flushed red. Her fingers grip the fabric of his flannel with a certain vigor. 

He knows what she's wanting, and he promises himself he'll give it to her. The slow movements grow less sensitive, and he submerges himself fully again, his bucking faster, harder. She leans forward, her breathing heavy, eyebrows furrowed as her own hips buck forward once again. "You feel perfect," he mutters, eying her darkly. And he likes the way her mouth forms an O, her core reacting to his words.

She squeezes around him tighter and he can't swallow the groan he lets out. "Shit," he grunts. Her hips buck against his, her head burrowing back at the way his fingers move and his shaft fits her. She's taking him perfectly and he's having a hard time holding himself together. She leans forward again, her mouth kissing his neck. She has a strange obsession with that part of his body, her fingers grazing his pulse point, tongue and teeth moving desperately against the tan, scarred skin.

But there's one thing bothering him; her silence. Sure, the sharp little breaths she lets out are pleasing, but God, he'd do anything to have her moan against the shell of his ear, to hear her call his name in a way full of heat and need. And that longing grows into a something he needs as her hand travels up his flannel, nails lightly scratching over the small of his back. He stills inside of her, his fingers unmoving, and she lets out a grunt.

"Use your words," he breathes. She scoffs, her teeth scratching his neck. He smiles slightly, and shakes his head. "C'mon," he murmurs. He feels her sigh again. Maybe she needs something to coax her. He barely moves his fingers, slowly sliding out of her. She lets out the quietest gasp, her hands gripping his body. Her lips press against the shell of his ear, her breathing uneven. "Joel..." she whispers lowly, her body tending. "Hm?" He hums, his fingers and shaft moving in a teasingly meticulous pace.

She grunts quietly, until his fingers press harder against her clit. "Fuck, pl-please," she whimpers, her lips brushing against his ear. He groans, and rams back into her at a vehemently fast pace. Her voice, rough and pleading against his ear, it nearly hurdles him over the edge. Something comes unhinged within her, and she lets out quiet moans against his ear, her hips bucking up to meet his. She's eager, her hands trembling as he slams into her mercilessly.

"Joel," she moans louder, her nails scratching at his back. His name rolling off her tongue in such a vehement way makes his heart beat faster, his dick swelling inside of her. "Fuck, yes," he growls, his fingers moving in a dizzying pace against her. Her moans and growls are overwhelming in their unfamiliarity and pleasure. Her thighs squeeze around his waist, and she lifts her head.

Her grey pupils are dilated, swallowed by something dark and delightful. Her mouth is ajar and he bucks into her a few more times. She whimpers, tightening around him. His mind is an echo chamber, filled with her sounds as she comes undone, her hips bucking against his in a fast, desperate way. "Shit," she hisses, her chest rising and falling as she falls apart. Joel's watching her, continuing to buck into her, his cock twitching inside of her as he too, reaches his breaking point. She kisses his mouth in a hungry way, and he groans, stilling inside of her.

He already feels better than he did before...whatever this was.

She pulls away, and leans down, resting her head against his shoulder, breathing hard and trembling from the after shock. Joel's surprised by her tenderness, and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. Her hair tickles the side of his face, and he wonders if she can feel the way his heart's thundering in his chest.

Her chest rises and falls against him, her fingernails raking up and down his back. “You should talk more often,” he murmurs, earning a scoff from her. He smiles, genuine and teeth barring, a laugh rumbling through him and shaking her. “M’ serious.” She doesn’t say anything and he can’t say he’s surprised.

“Bed?” He asks. She nods, and he pulls away from her. He wrangles his jeans back on, but she doesn’t bother, just tiredly trails after him up the steps. Her socked feet drag against the wood. He can feel her behind her and a part of him wants to reach out and grab her hand, but he refrains, and turns into the bedroom. She immediately climbs into the half of the bed left dormant for years. He imagines her body is cold in the abyss of hollow cloth, and watches her for a moment. She settles in comfortably, her eyes flicking up towards him, like she’s waiting.

Something impossibly warm and domestic is unleashed in him, flowing through his veins and making him see a future with her in it. “C’mon,” she groans, glancing at him impatiently. The corners of his mouth twitch, and he strips down to his underwear. She watches him idly, her eyes lidded in exhaustion. He walks over to his side of the bed, and climbs beneath the thick covers. She flips on her side to face him, her hands folded beneath her cheek.

Joel gazes at her, admiring the freckles splattered over her nose and cheeks, the coldness of her grey pupils, the way her pink hair curls into little ringlets. She unfolds her hands, and pulls Joel into her chest, his head nestled below her collarbones. His arm rests over her stomach and she lets out a sigh. He can’t tell if it’s one of exhaustion or happiness. He doesn’t try guessing though, and presses a kiss to her skin. “I don’t think you should leave tomorrow,” he admits quietly. She doesn’t laugh, but begins to thread her fingers through his hair.

“Maybe not,” she chokes out.

They fall asleep intertwined. Joel likes to feel the mattress dip with the weight of another human.


End file.
